


how do you want me?

by sultrygoblin



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Church Sex, Confessions, F/M, Floor Sex, Smut, he likes her body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23854528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - request - there’s only so long you can hide behind tradition
Relationships: Wilhelm Wicki/Original Female Character(s), Wilhelm Wicki/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	how do you want me?

**Author's Note:**

> hey there anon so here it is. i hope it’s okay that it’s smut it just...sorta happened. but i make no apologies. as always wicki is a man of few words but altogether oh so hot so...enjoy
> 
> “I have this weird prompt in mind, I don’t know if it will inspire you in any way but here it goes: Wilhelm Wicki and a young private have the habit of kissing when they get back safely from mission or before falling asleep, but nothing serious but she starts pushing him away when she realizes she has feelings.. he tries to win her back and prove himself and his feelings to her too.. Something with lots of Wicki loving because I feel you and your Wicki love !! Thank you!!! :)“

You were affectionate and Wilhelm seemed to understand that. You had been forced to kiss on more than one occasion when undercover or doing recon. You always managed to get out and then it seemed to become a tradition. The two times they hadn’t kissed after getting back from a mission the next ones had gone horribly, neither were willing to take the chance. It wasn’t any big gesture, just a quick, hard press of lip to lip. The other men stopped wolf whistling after the first three. Each had gotten one chance to ask why not them before you started handing out hard whacks across the back of their heads. Then the missions stopped, they began to trudge through the forest, taking out Nazi camps, rather than playing spy. So it became a kiss goodnight, just to make sure they saw daylight. Until you took the first watch.

You had tried to say the Lieutenant had switched you to it but that was quick and easy to disprove. It wasn’t just avoiding him; it was lying to him. Two arrows straight to the heart. The next day came silence. You took the back with Stiglitz, cleaning up the trail, work required to be done in complete silence in case someone was on their tail. Another thing you must have done on purpose, normally guarding the middle while he took the front. He felt miles from you; it ached. He found himself picturing your lips, how they felt against his, the ache grows. The arrow wounds bled. You kept your eyes down and yourself out of sight the best you could. Only a woman could manage to avoid someone in so small a group, all while managing to look totally ordinary to the others. But the others didn’t see the change, it didn’t occur to them. But it did him. It wasn’t just tradition to him anymore…

Seven days was a long time, but he’d managed to realize why all this seemed to be happening to him. He was in love. He remembers how his father described it, looking at his mother with such loving eyes you’d think they were teenagers again, and how city blocks had felt like oceans. You were three long strides away but a streak of canvas makes you feel worlds away. He loves you. A wonderful realization that brings heartache crashing down. You are avoiding him, you are ignoring him, that’s why he had been thinking about all this in the first place. It wouldn’t do now to just talk to you, not that you would give him the chance anyway, he had to win your back. It didn’t make sense, but he was almost sure men in love weren’t supposed to make sense.

Every attempt was shot down. You’re right there, he could just reach out and grab you. Why didn’t he? It was far too easy, that’s why. He wanted to make everything far more difficult than it needed to be. But he felt somehow that was the way it was supposed to be. All of this was exactly how it was supposed to be, and that’s what seemed to make his head spin. It wasn’t enough to just grab you and kiss you, what exactly was different about that? No, he had to woo you. Which wasn’t going well either. Whether you weren’t paying attention, his timing was off, or you simply saved yourself, over and over his plans were foiled. He feels like a cartoon, but not in a fun way. It’s maddening. He doesn’t like to admit it but he’s beginning to wonder if you simply don’t feel the same and had seen this before he had, wanting to offer distances before it goes too far. If that had been your plan it was off. Very off. As soon Wilhelm Wicki felt like a man possessed. Which seemed exactly how his father had described himself.

“Talk to your,” it’s Stiglitz, “Both of you are idiots,” the last man he ever expected to weigh in, “I’m sick of watching it.”

It’s almost helpful. He‘s not an idiot. Both of them are idiots. It’s a small thing from a second-hand source, but he’ll take it. Its leaps and bounds above being ignored. Which means he has to take advantage of it. People are starting to notice something, and something could be your one-way ticket back to the states. That came with its own feelings he didn’t want to get into. No, it was best for everyone if they talked about this. Not that it made approaching you any easier.

“I told you, Wicki, it’s nothing,” you spoke before he could. It had been a long time since you’d called him by his surname.

A third arrow joins the quiver his heart was becoming, “You’re a bad liar. That’s why you’ve been hiding.”

He doesn’t ask, grabbing you around the bicep and hauling you to your feet. Donowitz whistles, the rest of the men aim to join in, it’s Stiglitz who silences them. It’s almost surprising. Though now he might have to consider there was more to the man than a Nazi hunter. That could be left for another time as now he had to consider what to do. He hadn’t exactly made a plan. Yes, talk to you. But he hadn’t expected himself to drag you with him through the door of the crumbling church to what had once been an oversized storage room. One would think he would’ve thought of something, anything, to say along the way. He hadn’t because that would have been thinking logically. A feat he is clearly incapable of achieving at the moment.

“Alright, I get it,” you huff, managing to yank his hand from your arm with some maneuvering of your fingers, “You don’t have to manhandle me,” but that left him with a tight grip around your fingers, which quickly became your hand as he laced their fingers.

“I don’t think you do,” you swallow hard, which confuses him, “What?”

You shook your head with a squeak. A squeak. He’d never heard that noise from you before. It does something to his illogical mind. He can see so much more on your face than he’s ever been able to before. It isn’t fear, it was hard to scare a woman like you. No, you squeaked and your legs had moved, barely. One thigh rising as another lowered. A very different kind of squeak. Wilhelm had never stopped to wonder why you were avoiding him, only that he had to make it stop. Perhaps if he had, he would have figured all of this out sooner and they could’ve shaved a good couple days off the whole ordeal. But he hadn’t. What could be the reason you’d stopped the ritual? Because they’d started to matter too much, just like they had with him. He’s trying to figure out the best way to kiss you when your voice breaks the silence.

“Fuck this.”

And you’re kissing him. It amazes him that this is what was lying just beyond a press forward. You grip the front of his jacket tightly, your other hand on the back of his neck, making him bend a bit so you could move comfortably. He surges forward, pressing you against the stone wall, his fingers working blindly at the buttons of your overcoat. He can feel your smile against his lips, your hands moving to do the same. Neither able to push the oppressive fabric off the other quickly enough for their liking. It’s a fight against sweaters, each of them trying to time it so they only had to part once to remove each of their layers. You’re left in a blouse, there isn’t that familiar line beneath it, and you’re busy running your fingers along the new skin his undershirt exposed. It’s clear where this is going, he pulled back, you tried to follow, and Wilhelm is so tempted to let you. But he has just enough of his mind left for this.

“Is this why?” he asked, taking a step back and crouching.

Your holster drops, your knife along with it, “Yeah,” sitting slowly on the ground.

He turned, taking your face in his hands and kissing you once again. A deep, quick thing before he rose and stepped quickly out the door. It left you in the dark and silence, muffled sounds beyond the thick wood door. It opened again. His arms are comically full and you might’ve laughed if you wasn’t too busy scooting out of his way. Pushing yourself as far into the corner as possible. He had a plan and would not be deterred, it gave you plenty of time to close your eyes and take in that it was happening. It was actually happening. An accidental kiss weeks ago had lead here, finally. That’s what it had been, a kiss of relief when they both made it out. He was a superstitious fellow, and you thought that was that. And then it made your heartache, you couldn’t do it anymore. It was easier to pull away, even if it seemed to hurt anymore. Except none of that mattered. None of it had to happen. You could’ve-

“I think this’ll do,” his breath rolls over your face, his knuckle brushing across your cheek, “What do you think?”

It brings you back quickly, to this storeroom, in a broken-down church. With him. It doesn’t matter how long it took because it was happening. You open your eyes slowly, met with the light glow of a lantern he’s tucked in the far corner, covered slightly by a rock to ease the brightness. He’s created a makeshift bed with bedrolls, blankets, jackets and your packs. It’s clever, you bring your eyes from over his shoulder to his face.

“I think it’s perfect,” it’s the truth, you had never quite thought of how it might go but you didn’t think you would have been afforded the luxury of cushions, “Did they-”

“Shh.”

He hushed you before pressing his lips to hers again. There won’t be another intermission, and it feels like there never was. He keeps you there, moving slowly, tongue languid, as he worked at the laces of your boots, pulling each one off slowly, tossing them only god cares where. You press forward, and he has no problem with that, laying back on the cushions as you eased over him. Your hands pressed beside his head, knees on either side of his hips, only their lips touching. He works at the buttons of the blouse that are wafting towards him without your catching on, you seem far more focused on whatever task you’d assigned herself. Your body jolts when his hands grip your now exposed ribs. He’d been right in thinking you’d forgone a brassiere with all the layers they were forced to wear. He’d never been so thankful for the heavy clothes before. Your arms wobble and he pulls, you don’t get the chance to collapse on him as suddenly you’re under him. Thighs tight around his hips, heaving breasts exposed to the cool night air, his lips move to the corner of your mouth, down your chin. His teeth latch into the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, you groan, arching against him, his arms sliding under your to hold your at the angle. He pulls back, looking over you in the dim light. Swollen lips, hooded eyes, beautifully malleable in his hands. In all his dreams you’d never been like this. It seemed impossible he could be here in this moment with you. Your fingers scramble at the hem of his undershirt, tugging it up as best you can at the odd angle. Your drops your gently, lifting enough to toss it, and returning to his exploration. He laps gently at the bite mark that isn’t going anywhere for a few days, over the curve of your clavicle, your spine moves to arch, he grips your ribs pressing your down lightly. You’re needy and as easy as it would be to just go for gold, that’s not how he wanted this to happen. He barely wanted it to happen the way that it was, but who knows when you’d get privacy like this again.

You’re opening your mouth to speak when he takes a pebbled nipple in his both and it dies on your lips, replaced with a low hum as your head fell back once again. He’s overly pleased with himself at the reaction, the grip on your torso loosening as he eased it downwards, fingers trailing the waistline of your pants, thumb tracing the button. You don’t stop him, one hand dipping in his hair, the other gripping beside your head, focused on his tongue tracing across your heated flesh to the other nub and lavishing it with the same attention. The buttons open easily, he captures your mouth when he dips beneath your trousers to cup you. You’re wet and warm against his hand and his groan matches your own at the sensation. You reach for his own trousers and you grab your wrist, pressing it back against the fabric by your head.

“Trust me,” it’s all he has to say.

He keeps his eyes on you when he pulls his hand back and dips it beneath the final barrier between them. Running his hand over soft curls, the rest of his fingers cupping you as just the middle slid between your hips, rubbing gently up and down. The most beautiful noise tears through you, a needy keening, your hips try to roll in response. He pins you down with one of his own watching how beautiful you are trying to catch your breath. His hand inches down just a bit, pressing the heel of his hand into that wonderful bundle of nerves that made you almost shriek, the noise stolen when his fingertip teased your entrance. As if you’d frozen to take at the moment completely, even your breath stops. More beautiful than any piece of art he’s seen before.

“Do you trust me?” the whisper echoing among the stone.

You nod, exhaling slowly as he slid a finger inside you, followed by a muffled shriek as he pulled back to add another. He swallowed it down, kissing you hard, anything to drown out the painful press of the zipper’s back. His movements are relentless, rolling the heel of his hand as he pulls back and forth, fingers curled to catch that perfect spot. Quickly he reduces you to a mewling mess, aching to press back, no regard for the sounds that came from your mouth nor their volume. You’ll both get chewed out tomorrow, but it’s all worth it. As long as he can feel your body shiver and lock, your walls begin to clamp down around him, as long as he can have this moment over and over again it’ll be worth it. He can see the stars explode in your eyes, your hips eager to move away from him, but he doesn’t stop. Watching each twitch of your face, feeling your nails dig into the skin of his biceps, and then your entire body went slack.

“One day,” his lips ghost down your torso, “When all of this is over,” fingers hooking around both garments, “I’ll spend hours throwing you off that edge,” tugging them down your legs and off into the dark distance, “Over and over and over,” blanketing your with his body as he devoured your mouth once more.

Your arms wrapped around him, your knees dug into his sides, every corded muscle seems to shake beneath him, “Please,” it’s so quiet he’s not even sure he’s heard it, “Please,” the word ghosting across his mouth.

You might as well have shouted it from the rooftops, “Wilhelm,” your lips scrape across his cheek, he fumbles with the button and zipper of his trousers, “Please,” nose buried in the crook of his neck.

He didn’t bother with getting his pants off, there wasn’t enough time, gripping himself tightly. In the future, he would take his time with you, tease you till you begged but not now. Now he simply needed you and Wilhelm happily took you, sliding his weeping cock head into your before groaning and sinking into your completely. You’re so tight around him, clenching and shuddering in ways he didn’t know a woman could. He’s perfectly content to sit you, basking in the feel of your, but his bedfellow is needier. You begin to roll your hips, his eyes follow into the back of his head, and suddenly he’s possessed. He’s sure it’s by yourself. He gripped your thigh, leaning back enough to pull your calf over his shoulder. A few seconds is all you are given to adjust before his pounding into you at a punishing pace. The firm muscle of his pubic bone slamming into those nerves he’d abused just moments before, reaching that special place the same, and yet something even deeper you couldn’t name. It created a pressure that had you babbling in seconds. His slick with sweat, your hands scrabble unable to gain purchase. He grabs them, pressing them to each side of your head, pressing him and your leg even further forward, pressing deeper. You scream, a sound they’re going to pay for later. He doesn’t care, he can’t believe you’re able to get any tighter, but you manage. There isn’t a wave to crest, you just fall, eyes locked with his, trying to pull him with you. Not yet, no matter how much he wants to follow you, he wants to watch you come undone just one more time. Just in case.

He’s holding it together by a thread, gritting his teeth as he leaned back, beginning to ease onto folded legs as he held your against him, back of your thighs finally coming to rest on the top of his, legs hung on either side of his hip, feet pressed flat. Wide-open for him, his eyes tracing every bit of flesh as he thrust his hips upward. A broken moan tumbled from you and the grip you had on the blanket became white-knuckled. No further urging was required. He moved against you, hands spread in dewy curls as his thumb began to work your clit. Your hands flew to your mouth, eyes rolling backward, aware enough to know they couldn’t afford another scream but unable to stop herself. You kept your hands clamped over your mouth and all too quickly for them both you flew again, taking him with you. He pressed forward, kissing you hard as his hips pinned hers and ground deeply.

“Fuck,” it’s the first full word you’ve managed to speak, moaned across his lips as hips finally slowed and stopped, “That…fuck,” but neither was willing to move.

“Should’ve kissed me sooner, Liebling.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always feedback is appreciated. and i am always taking ideas or requests.


End file.
